The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed more than 10,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Like this:

Having already established my feelings about chocolate in this venue, I won’t restate them other than to add an important point I neglected to make at the time: I am a bipartisan chocolate lover. When it comes to chocolate, I suffer no compunctions about crossing the aisle. Indeed, I so appreciate the essential characteristics of milk as well as dark chocolate, that I sometimes combine both in a baking recipe. Perhaps it’s best not to tell anyone. Especially Fox News.

Today’s recipe is vintage—so old that I suspect it’s in the public domain. I saved this recipe for “Mamie Eisenhower’s Million Dollar Fudge” ages ago, and I have the yellowing newspaper clipping to prove it. (I hope that the estate of Mamie Eisenhower does not sue me for copyright infringement. If they do, I’ll offer to settle the case by shipping the Eisenhower descendents batches of their matriarch’s incredibly decadent fudge.) Christmas might be over, but you can still sneak this in before your New Year’s resolution has you abstaining from sweets. You’re welcome.

Boil the sugar, salt, butter and milk in a large, heavy saucepan for 6 minutes.

Put the chocolate chips, German chocolate, marshmallow cream and nuts in a large bowl (I used the bowl of my KitchenAid mixer.) Very carefully, pour the boiling syrup on top and beat until chocolate is completely melted. Pour into a greased 9-by 13-inch pan. Let stand a few hours before cutting. Store in an airtight tin. (I find that the fudge keeps best if I leave it in the pan—covered with foil and kept in the refrigerator—and simply cut into squares what I need for serving or gifting.) Even if I do store it in a tin, it’s best to keep this refrigerated.

A few of John Erikson's handmade soy wax candles, with their reindeer friends

John Erikson of Richmond, Virginia, has been burning the candle at both ends lately. As the one-man operation behind Pure Light Candles, that’s understandable; December is his busy season. But if burning the candle at both ends could be construed as exhibiting a flagrant disregard for the environment, then we have to find him another metaphor. Erikson strives to leave behind the smallest carbon footprint imaginable in the production of his soy wax candles—he is as concerned with the environmental impact of his work—and the “butterfly economics” of his cottage industry—as he is with the candles’ visual and olfactory aesthetics. His philosophy, he says, is “naturally elegant.”

My husband John and I met him this fall at the South of the James Farmers’ Market, where candlemaker John’s display—and the fragrance emanating therefrom—immediately caught my attention.

Pure Light Candles, on display at the South of the James Farmers' Market in Richmond

Some months later, I visited Erikson’s kitchen “workshop” to observe his process and examine his products. The former is exemplary; the latter, exquisite.

What makes Erikson’s candles unique is their green aspect, despite the fact that white is the only color they come in. (“There is no such thing as a natural candle dye,” says Erikson, which is why he lets the natural color of the wax shine through.)

As he explained it to me, most commercially purchased candles are made from petroleum-based paraffin. “You’ll never find an environmentally-friendly product with the word petroleum in it.” Erikson told me that the first time he ever made a candle, he used paraffin. A cloud of sooty dust emerged, staining the wall of his kitchen. That experience, along with his daughter’s environmental activism (she’s an actress living in California), was a critical turning point in the development of his philosophy. He established Pure Light Candles in 2005.

Erikson crafts his candles from 100-percent natural soy wax, a product that is biodegradable, non-toxic, and burns at a lower temperature than paraffin, thus providing longer burn times and therefore greater value to the consumer. Soy wax also burns cleanly, leaving minimal wax residue on the sides of the jars, and none of the black sooty residue, known as “ghosting,” that John experienced during his fledgling attempt. Nor do soy wax candles release noxious petroleum wax pollutants. And, since the soy wax he uses comes from homegrown soybeans, the enterprise supports American farmers while minimizing transport offsets; he obtains his soy wax from a distributor in Durham, North Carolina, which ships via UPS and offers carbon credits.

I asked him if nationally-known candle companies use soy wax. Erikson says that soy doesn’t lend itself well to mass-production; it’s “a small-batch wax,” and his production line is minimal; he makes only four to six candles at a time. So if you see a national brand marketing a soy candle, be aware, says Erikson, that a candle can be marketed as soy if it contains 30-percent of the product; the remainder is paraffin, which is a byproduct of refined diesel fuel.

I then asked him why he doesn’t make his candles out of beeswax, another environmentally friendly material.

“There are problems with beeswax,” says Erikson. “We have a huge shortage of candle beeswax here in the U.S., so a lot of it is imported from Asia,” a practice that runs counter to his “think globally, buy locally philosophy.” Everything that goes into a Pure Light candle is made in America.

“Beeswax also does not accept fragrance well,” he adds. “It’s good to be natural, but people buy a candle for the fragrance. When you burn a beeswax candle, you can smell the beeswax. It’s also expensive, and I have to keep my eye on the bottom line.”

About those fragrances: Erikson makes candles in as many as 50 different scents; several are designed with the season in mind. The week before Christmas, when I stopped by, he was preparing a batch of candles for a holiday shipment. I watched him create several “Pomegranate” candles, and the scent was exquisite. The Internet can do many things, but I’ve yet to see a software program that can recreate the sensory experience of fragrances. Too bad. I would love to share that with you here. The closest I can come is to list a few of his fragrances:

Blue Ridge RainCashmereChesapeake Bay BreezeClean CottonCranberry Marmalade English GardensHolidays by the HearthJames River Storm WatchRaspberry SangriaWhite Tea and Ginger (I’m burning this now as I write…ahhhh….)Williamsburg Lavender

A candle’s fragrance is its essence. Here too, Erikson adheres to his environmentally friendly philosophy by using only botanical oils, which he obtains from a U.S. distributor in Kentucky.

Erikson tells me that there are two types of botanical oils: essential oils, which derive from a singular substance (lavender, for example, is cold-pressed to yield lavender oil), and fragrance oils, which do have some chemical additives. “No fragrance oil is 100-percent natural,” says Erikson. “But that’s not all bad. I avoid the ones that are—phthalates, for example, are known carcinogenics and banned in California. Manufacturers are not required to disclose that a fragrance oil contains phthalates, but they are if you ask them. You have to know to ask. I’m trying to create as natural a product as possible, so I ask.”

As for the rest of his materials, he uses only 100-percent cotton wicks. Some manufacturers add other substances, such as zinc, to stiffen a wick. Erikson doesn’t do business with them. Moreover, all wicks, he tells me, have to be primed with wax; most are primed with—you guessed it—paraffin. Erikson has his wicks specially made by a soy-wick manufacturer.

His glass apothecary jars are made in the U.S. by the Libbey Glass Company. He chose their glass for several reasons, with safety being at the forefront. “An enclosed candle is the safest you can buy,” he says, “but all glassware is not the same. Most of the imported glassware, if you look at thickness, is half as thick as what I use. I also found that this had a substantial base, which is where glassware usually fails. I’m buying a local product that I feel is safe, and that looks good, too.”

He keeps labeling to a minimum, for aesthetic as well as environmental reasons, and employs an ingenious recycling incentive program: when your candle has given you all it’s got to give, wash it out with soap and water and return the empty container to him. He’ll pay you a dollar, and he’ll re-use it in a future production cycle.

Now that, my friends, is a lovely light.

If you would like to purchase something beautiful for your home and do something beautiful for the environment at the same time, Pure Light Candles are available for order by phone or e-mail, and will ship outside the Commonwealth of Virginia. You may contact John Erikson at 804-934-9171 or erikson_john@yahoo.com. Pure Light Candles doesn’t have a website, but can be found on Facebook.

Except for the rare occasions when I would order it in a restaurant, the only chicken pot pie I’ve ever known was my mother’s. It was of the variety found in the freezer case at the supermarket. Mom was an excellent cook and a wonderful baker, but she rarely attempted pastry pie crusts, which is why, I suspect, she never made a chicken pot pie from scratch.

I inherited my mother’s cooking and baking genes. Unfortunately, another dominant trait is the trepidation gene, the one that kicks in when faced with the prospect of a pastry crust. Now look: I can whip up a graham cracker crust that’ll knock your socks off. (Someday I’ll share my recipe for peanut butter pie.) But I’ve always found the act of rolling out pastry dough and trying to fit it neatly in a pie pan as intimidating as trying to drive a stick shift. I’ve determined that I have a sort of spatial dyslexia. I also invariably cut off way too much gift paper when I’m wrapping presents. So… to make me feel better about myself when I think about these shortcomings, I resort to comfort food. Ironically, the one comfort food I’ve craved the most and haven’t been able to satisfy has been chicken pot pie. Until, that is, I met the Casserole Queens at an author signing at Richmond’s Fountain Books.

Crystal Cook, left, and Sandy Pollock: The Casserole Queens

You’ll recall that I shared their recipe for sweet potato casserole at Thanksgiving. And I promised to return with their chicken pot pie recipe. Luckily, I roasted two chickens the other week, so I just happened to have the main ingredient for this on hand.

I was also ready to face my fears.

I needn’t have worried. This recipe replaces homemade crust with a sheet of frozen puff pastry. (One and one-half or so sheets, if the brand you’re using is too small for a 9×13 dish. And of course you’ll thaw them first.) While it could be said that I’m still repeating a pattern begun in my mother’s kitchen, I justify this cheat by reminding myself of all the other from-scratch aspects of this recipe. I then feel positively awash in culinary nobility.

This recipe, incidentally, is the one that caught the eye of Bobby Flay; he featured Crystal and Sandy on Throwdown! with Bobby Flay, his Food Network show. Surprisingly, they didn’t win.

They did as far as John and I are concerned. We loved every morsel. The recipe made enough for us to enjoy leftovers for several days and still share a serving with our neighbor. If you have a crowd coming over for the holidays, this ought to keep them satisfied.

* I used frozen peas and they were perfectly wonderful. I did take the time, however, to blanch the carrots and the potatoes (separately). Took some extra time, but it was worth it to preserve their distinct flavors.

**Depending on the brand you use, you might need more than 1 sheet. I did.

1. Preheat the oven to 425oF.

2. In a large skillet set over medium-high heat, melt the butter. Add the chicken, bell pepper, and shallots, and cook, stirring constantly, for 5 minutes. Stir in the flour, salt,
tarragon, and black pepper. Add the milk and cream, and cook, stirring frequently, until the mixture is thick and bubbly, about 10 minutes. Add the wine, peas, carrots, and potatoes and stir until heated thoroughly, about 5 minutes.

3. Transfer the hot chicken mixture to a 9 x 13-inch casserole dish. Place the puff pastry over the top of the casserole dish. Brush the edges of the puff pastry with the egg wash and press against the side of the casserole dish, then cut slits in the pastry to allow steam to escape. Brush the top of the puff pastry with egg wash—this will help the puff pastry brown evenly. Bake for about 35 minutes or until the top is golden brown. Serve immediately.

The lovely bones go into the pot. The chicken is reserved for another use.

Barbara Kafka calls chicken stock “the universal solvent of the kitchen.” I wholeheartedly agree. So many recipes that I love call for chicken stock, and it’s essential that I have it on hand. As one reader pointed out last week, store-bought stock—even the organic versions—are laden with salt. This recipe is not. This is what you’ll want to use. Besides being embarrassingly easy to make, it’s economical, and it will fill your home with the aroma of simmering goodness—a perfect antidote to a cold autumn or winter day.

Last week I featured Kafka’s recipe for roasted chicken. Please bear that in mind as you consider this post; to state the obvious, roast chicken is the first step in making homemade stock. Again, my thanks to Barbara Kafka for giving me permission to share these recipes from her wonderful book Roasting: A Simple Art.

The finished stock, ready for measuring and freezing

Basic Chicken Stock This makes about 3 quarts

Carcass and bones from a 5- to 6-pound roasted chicken, plus uncooked neck and giblets (I also add the wing tips I’ve trimmed before roasting the chicken); or 6 pounds chicken bones, necks and wings

3 quarts water or stock, or to cover by 2 inches
(I’ve never added stock and don’t recommend it doing so. See BK’s notes below.)

If using a whole chicken carcass, cut it up. Place the chicken parts or bones and parts in a stockpot with water to cover by 2-3 inches. Cover the pot and bring to a boil. Skim off the fat and scum that rise to the top. Lower the heat so liquid is just barely boiling. Cover if desired. Cook 8 to 16 hours, skimming occasionally, adding more cold water as needed. The more skimming, the clearer the stock.

Pour the stock through a sieve and let cool at room temperature as time permits; then refrigerate. Remove the art from the surface and any sediment from the bottom.

Use as is, refrigerate for 1 week, or freeze for 6 to 9 months.

Some notes from Barbara Kafka, adapted from her introduction to this recipe:

Make the stock without vegetables; they can always be added later. Vegetables cloud the stock and can cause it to turn and sour. (Kafka points out that she also doesn’t know until she uses the stock what she wants the flavorings to be.)

Stock made from the bones saved from plates and the carcass of a roasted bird, with its giblets added, will be richer than stock made from unroasted parts.

Tie up the gizzards and hearts in a piece of cheesecloth to fish them out easily after an hour’s cooking time. (I have to admit I never seem to have cheesecloth on hand, and I always forget to remove the giblets from the pot after an hour. Never harmed my stock, as far as I can tell!)

Before using the bones of a roast chicken for stock, remove all the good meat and save it for another use. (You can see from the picture that’s exactly what I did; the following day I made chicken pot pie, and will share that recipe with you next week.)

Note that the pieces of tendon and all parts that look and feel unattractive are good for the flavor of the stock.

Once a chicken is roasted, it is easy to pull the carcass apart—cut it if you are fastidious. (I’m not fastidious. I just rip the thing to pieces.) But having the bones in smaller pieces means that less liquid is needed to cover them (and that yields a richer stock).

Use a stockpot that is tall in proportion to its diameter; this minimizes the amount of liquid required and constantly rotates the liquid over the bones, which should be covered by liquid by several inches. (When Kafka doesn’t have time to let the stock simmer for many hours, she cheats by adding canned stock to the water for a base. I’ve never done this and I suspect she doesn’t do it often herself. I should ask her!)

The key to the success of this stock is long simmering. Don’t be alarmed, but if I start my pot going after an evening meal, I’ll keep it simmering all through the night and into the next day. Just keep the flame on at its lowest—after the initial boiling, all you really want to do is keep it lightly percolating—one or two “burps” at a time. I keep the lid on, but slightly askew to let some of the heat escape.

Why don’t you want it to boil the entire time? Because, according to Kafka, boiling risks binding the fat and dissolving solids into the gelatinous liquid. And long simmering dissolves all the gelatinous bits, which is what you want. The bones fall apart, as she says, “having given their all.” It takes about eight hours minimum; she likes to keep it going up to sixteen hours, if possible, and so do I.

Several months after John and I became engaged, I was assisting a journalist at the New York Times with a story—part of my regular duties as director of communications for the music conservatory where I worked. During our e-mail exchange, I mentioned that I was getting remarried, relocating to Virginia, and would soon be leaving my job. She wrote back to wish me luck and tell me about a book that crossed her desk when she was an editor at the Times Book Review. She found it “extremely interesting and well written,” she wrote, and sent me a link that led me to Wendy Swallow’s The Triumph of Love Over Experience: A Memoir of Remarriage. Something told me to read it—most likely the voice inside my head suggesting that after a quarter century of marriage and seven post-divorce years on my own, advice from a person who had been in the trenches might be useful. Deeply in love, John and I share a common sense of how to be in the world and of the world—with the same values, faith, and politics—and we operate from the same zone of trust and honesty. We’ve always been able to communicate easily and openly about our relationship. Still, advice from an expert is always welcome, and I was curious to see how someone else navigated the waters we were about to enter. I should mention that Wendy and her second husband each had two sons when they remarried—all of them teenagers.

Her book was a comfort to me, a survival guide, user’s manual, and road map all in one. I have recommended it countless times—and not just to second couples—anyone in a relationship will benefit from reading it. Regular followers of this blog already know that I’ve cited Wendy’s wisdom before. One of my favorite quotes appears on the “Secrets to a Happy Relationship” page, which you can find at the top of the blog. When I began formulating the editorial objectives for The Midlife Second Wife, I determined that mine would not be the only voice you would hear; a section devoted to interviews with experts was therefore essential. Wendy Swallow is the first person to whom I reached out. I’m pleased and honored that she agreed to do this interview. Here is an edited transcript of our conversation, which took place on Thursday, December 1, 2011:

Wendy, thanks so much for participating in this interview. I’ve been looking forward to our conversation for some time. So have some of my readers. One of them sent me this e-mail:

I’m not in midlife … and not a second wife, but I’m having thoughts and fears of a second marriage. I’m 43 and said that I would never remarry, but I have recently found someone who I would consider marrying and I’m scared as hell!

Based on the research you did for your memoir of remarriage—and based on your own happy experience—what do you say to people who are genuinely frightened by the prospect of “stepping off the cliff and hoping to be able to fly?”

Those fears need to be taken seriously. That doesn’t mean you give in to them, but you listen to them and examine them. You have to trust your gut on this stuff, but you also have to really believe strongly—and the research bears this out—that the people who do best in a remarriage are those who have really worked to process what happened in their first marriage and their divorce, and who have grown from those experiences. That means perhaps going into counseling, accepting your role in what did not go well in your former relationship and where those problems lay, and in your ongoing relationship with your ex—even if the person that you left seems mostly to blame for the marriage’s failure from your perspective. Everybody has to look at how they contributed to the marriage not working out—even going so far as to ask why you married that person in the first place. This is especially true if you have children. I believe strongly in this. I don’t think it’s an easy process to go through. But if you want to grow and be able to marry again, this is an important piece of the puzzle. You have to keep those lessons in front of you. Researchers find that people who do not do well in remarriage never really learned the lessons of their first failed marriage. The statistics for second marriages succeeding are not great. And for those who remarry a third time, the odds that that marriage won’t work increase, and they go up for each subsequent remarriage.

I know. The numbers are pretty grim.Your reminder that we learn the lessons from our past experiences is critically important. What other conscious decisions must a couple make, and what actions must they take, for their second marriage to have a shot at success?

One of the things Charlie and I told each other early on was this: “I just want to be clear: I’m not rescuing you.” We were mostly talking to ourselves. We married our first spouses because we wanted to help them be more stable in the world. After my marriage ended, it ultimately became more important to me that I be really stable and happy in my single, divorced life. I knew this for myself, but I wasn’t sure that Charlie saw that.

There’s a moment in the book where I write about how we went to counseling with a minister. At the very first session, she managed to surface the whole issue of money, because we had a wealth disparity in our relationship. It wasn’t a bad thing—we didn’t think that money was something we’d have to spend a lot of time worrying about. But we had slightly different attitudes to this disparity in our relationship—we had two alien cultures coming together—and we recognized that it could create challenges in the future. It took—it always takes—compromise and communication to work those things out, so having these counseling sessions helped us; even if you think you know what you’re doing, a little premarital counseling can go a long way.

I want to return to the topic of compromise, but first I have to say something about premarital counseling. In our case, that train had left the station; that’s why I was so glad to read your book. How risky is it to take on a second marriage without going through couples’ therapy first? What advice do you have for those who are leaving it to their own devices?

I do think there’s a lot of good literature out there, and many excellent books that deal with stepfamilies, so there are a lot of resources. You can get counseling in various ways. A wise, good friend can be helpful. Definitely you have to talk to each other.

Before I left my first husband, I remember talking to a friend who remarried. I asked him what worked in his second marriage that didn’t work in his first. He said that when he married his second wife, he told her, “If you have a problem with something I’m doing, tell me right away. Don’t let it snowball.” That was their mantra.

I really thought about that. If you establish that you can talk about the difficult issues together early, then that’s good.

Very early on, our kids got into this habit that we worried about at first: drinking milkshakes at 10 at night and watching South Park in the kitchen. At first Charlie and I hung around, but then we realized they had more fun without us there. So we started taking our dog out for a long walk while they had their time together. It was perfectly natural; we didn’t like South Park. We’d leave the house with the dog for those long walks, and that was when we could talk without people hearing us or wondering why we were huddled together and whispering. We were both working full-time and running all over D.C. with these kids to play practice, SAT prep—we had very little downtime with each other—so those walks were very helpful in giving us a chance to download. His boys would bring their issues to him, mine to me; kids communicate with their own parents, mostly. Sometimes there were things I needed to know, and I wanted to anticipate what level of support was required of me.

That’s a great example of using every opportunity to keep the lines of dialogue open. Let’s get back to the subject of compromise. It’s undoubtedly important, but is there such a thing as too much compromise?

I think you have to trust your gut. You might agree to compromise on something but it doesn’t sit right with you. Trusting your gut has two actions:

1. Listening to your inner feelings, and assessing those feelings. How fair are they?

2. Acknowledging that there may be something you either need to bring back or learn to deal with. Which is it?

It’s not enough to listen to your gut—you must assess your feelings. Let your rational, less emotional brain think about it. Once you’ve done that, ask yourself what you really think will be different after your compromise—what outcome are you looking for?

There’s a famous moment in our family when we all learned a lot about compromise. My youngest stepson, Sam (the second-youngest of the boys) was advocating for a cell phone; he went to a school that was farther from home than the others. We worried about the cost of four cell phones, thinking that if we got one for Sam, we’d have to get phones for all four boys, as they were close in age. It begged the question: Who is ready for something, and who isn’t?

Each boy got his own computer when they started high school; before that, they had to share. And they would be taking their computers to college. We thought we were being fair and equitable. But after much discussion about the cell phone, Sam turned to us and said, “Can no one be special anymore?”

The truth is, each boy was different and had different needs, but we were trying to homogenize everyone. Benjamin called it “the kindergarten effect.” When we all moved in together, I had a cubby for each boy, color-coded toothbrushes and towels. The boys saw it as infantilizing. The house would have run more smoothly if the Wendy-scheme had worked, but the boys weren’t in that place.

Sometimes you set out with a plan that you think is fair and equitable, but life is a lot messier than that. The boys picked up on the fact that we wanted to be fair and equitable—and they appreciated it—but we were also able to articulate that within the family, some had specific needs.

The lesson is, compromise is a double-edged sword. Sometimes an imposition of the will of one person over the other has to be negotiated.

Here’s another compromise-related question, and a timely one, with Christmas only two weeks away: How do you handle the holidays?

In the early days we had a little trouble, because although Charlie and I tried to organize things well in advance, not all parties involved were planners—they would do things at the last minute, or not consult with us, so the matter of who was even going to be with us was often up in the air.

We did okay, though. One of the things we decided early on was that because our kids were teenagers, we were not going to pretend to make a happy family out of the six of us just because we were cohabitating. Both our sets of boys spent time with their other parents. Both of us had joint custody, which was nice. Sometimes we just had his kids, sometimes just mine, sometimes all four, sometimes nobody. We’d have four different alternatives in a two-week period. My older sister, who is a minister, says, when something is stressful:

“I’m trying to hold this lightly.”

This Christmas we’re expecting to have all four boys together for the first time in four years; all four of them without other people. We’re still waiting for word on the fourth and hope we get him. But we’re “trying to hold it lightly.” If it doesn’t work, it’s not the end of the world.

I learned from my first marriage that the good moments in life are not necessarily going to happen on a designated day. Many wonderful moments take place on completely average days.

The other thing is, we really didn’t want the kids to feel the stress of two families on the holidays, so we would accept that the kids were happy with the parent they were with. We’d have a night two weeks into December where we did something special together, like decorate the tree. We learned to get very flexible.

People get into trouble when they have a preset romantic notion of how something should look, whether it’s marriage, or what a holiday is supposed to look like. Life is way more variable. What is precious in life is not a perfectly decorated tree with all people in their seats at the table. Life can be messy.We’ve had holidays where we didn’t even put lights on the tree. It just has to be good enough as it is.

Whatever it is, Charlie will always say, “Let’s make this fun.”

Our first Thanksgiving in a restaurant was kind of sad for me; it wasn’t with my big family. Charlie found this cool restaurant and we were seated way up high. It was a lovely experience, but partly it was because he said “Let’s just make this a really cool event they’ll always remember.

One day we were trying to choose a movie to rent, deciding which one would be the most fun. The boys said, “Let’s do several movies!” It wasn’t what I had in mind, but I took Charlie’s line and asked myself: “Is there some way to have fun here?

Compromise again, which takes negotiating. Pro and Con lists are great tools for that—especially for working through big decisions. For a couple about to get remarried, what in your view are the top three things that should appear on the Pro side of their ledger? And what top three items on the Con side of the list suggest trouble ahead?

On the Pro side, I think that these must be at the top of the list:

1. Both parties need to be tolerant, patient, mature, and capable of self-examination.

In my first marriage, I didn’t understand how mature I had to be in the world. In my second marriage, I learned, partly from working for many years, that there’s something about the business world that enables most people to deal with people even if they don’t like them. A lot of the attributes about how we behave outside of the family can help us be better members of our own family. I don’t think I should give voice to all of my angry moments. I do a lot of waiting, so I don’t feel so strongly about the issue and can then address it with my more mature self.

2. Each person needs to be truly loving. They have to really love each other—love all of each other—the whole ball of wax.

None of us are perfect. We will all disappoint each other at times. But who is really there for me? And who am I really there for? Charlie and I didn’t get married for three years; we didn’t make any rash movements. I had worked so hard to recover from my first marriage that it took my brain time to catch up with my heart in order to accept him with all of his baggage. I knew that it was going to take time. Research bears this out: Rapid remarriage is dicier statistically than thoughtful, careful remarriage.

I knew that there was a whole process that Charlie had to go through—that he and his ex had to go through—without me coming in.

3. Your kids have to be in a place where they will be able to cope with your remarriage.

Charlie and I did not move in together before we married—not for moral or religious reasons, but because I was not going to ask my children to be at the kitchen table with a stranger every morning unless I was sure that this was a permanent thing. And his kids were really not ready; it was a little harder for them when it did happen because their parents’ divorce was more recent.

Not all kids are going to be ready for their parents to remarry. I know marriages that have sort of gone forward without everyone at the table. It’s not that they won’t be successful; it’s just that things will be tougher. It can be painful. I’ve watched a couple of families whose kids went into battle mode. Our own kids did not need to make us unhappy; they were very relieved that their parents were happier once they remarried.

Now, for the Con side …

1. Any impulsive behaviors

One example of an impulsive behavior would be getting together when it is motivated by something other than “this is the smart thing to do.” One thing I found in my research is that women are more likely to remarry partly to solve financial problems. Many women come out of a divorce living a more reduced life, and they struggle significantly. Women are somewhat motivated by financial concerns; who can blame them? But if that is the main motivation, that’s a problem.

Another impulsive behavior is getting married in the first blush of love before you know who somebody is—acting impulsively towards remarriage rather than thinking it out carefully and taking the time to know who you’re marrying. When you remarry, it’s not just the person you’re marrying; it’s their larger family. It’s their baggage. It’s their divorce.

2. Wrangling over property and money from early on in the relationship

We’ve all heard stories of someone who married a person who dictated everything, including where they will live, because the person they are marrying is very established in their lives and their career. If one party is having to give up everything and the other is not giving up anything, that’s destabilizing. It makes you wonder why they’re not compromising. One area where this comes up in a big way, even subconsciously, is property.

When the kids and I moved into Charlie’s house (partly for financial reasons) there were advantages. It was closer to my job. We would be only two blocks from my ex, which was a huge boon for my kids. But it was their house. When we moved my stuff in, I put it all in the living room, then I asked for a shelf or two. We worked it all out, negotiating so that decisions weren’t made automatically and arbitrarily. If one person in a proposed remarriage is unwilling to compromise on some of this stuff, that’s a problem.

The issue of property is interesting. When I was interviewing people for my book, I met one couple that fought because the husband needed a home office and he took away his young step-daughter’s playroom.By the time I’d met them, she was a grown woman who no longer lived at home, but she still hadn’t forgiven him. It’s all about territoriality. People identify certain things, rooms, and buildings with different stages in their lives.

Here’s another thing I learned from my divorce. My ex and I had less trouble deciding about how to deal with our kids afterward because he’s trustworthy. He had issues, but trust was never one of them. He never once missed a support payment. He never stood the boys up. We shared the same values on education and on who the boys would become. We shared the same religious life. We shared the basic values.

If either party lacks integrity, then there’s going to be a lot more distrust in a marriage, and trust is the most important thing. You have to really know a person to know if they’ve got a spotty trust history.

Wendy, you’ve written a book about divorce and a book about remarriage. Do you have any plans for a third book about relationships?

I never really meant to write a memoir to begin with, and then I wrote two even though I thought I shouldn’t write one until I was 80 and my parents were gone. I don’t think I’ll write another book about relationships; I’m not really sure I have anything more to add to the literature at this point. I’ve just spent four years writing my first novel. I’m working with my agent, and hoping it will be published in the next year or so. Part of me wants to do more non-fiction. We now live in Nevada half of the year, and I’ve become very interested in climate change, especially as it relates to the West. When my kids were young, I had all sorts of story ideas in my head about families and kids with issues. Maybe if I ever have grandkids …

You’ve now been remarried for ten years. What would you tell your younger self if you could travel back in time to the eve of your wedding?

It would be to have confidence. I’d say, “Trust yourself and trust Charlie, because it’s all gonna be fine. You’ve made an excellent choice. Trust it and rejoice in it.”

Wendy Swallow is an author and journalist who recently retired as an emeritus professor of journalism after nearly 20 years of teaching at American University in Washington, D.C. She started her career as a reporter and editor on the financial desk of the Washington Post, covering the savings and loan crisis, local business, and regional environmental issues. In academia, she researched and wrote about advertiser pressure on newspaper coverage and the influence of new technology on journalism. More recently, she has turned to writing about family issues. She has published two books with Hyperion, Breaking Apart: A Memoir of Divorce (2001) and The Triumph of Love Over Experience: A Memoir of Remarriage (2005). In addition to many newspapers, her work has appeared in MORE,Washingtonian, Ladies’ Home Journal, Readers’ Digest, Parenting, The National Journal, Washington Journalism Review, Journalism Quarterly, Journalism Educator, Newspaper Research Journal, and Extra! She is currently working on an historical novel and divides her time between homes in Reno, Nevada, and Washington, D.C. She and her husband Charles Shepard have four grown sons.

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You know the old saying: “Give people roasted chicken, they’ll eat for a day. Teach them how to roast a chicken, they’ll eat forever.” What? That’s not how it goes? Well, it does now. Barbara Kafka is the person who taught me how to roast a chicken, although she wasn’t aware of that when I called her this morning, at her home in Manhattan, to ask for permission to publish two of her recipes on The Midlife Second Wife. As far as I’m concerned her beautiful book,Roasting, A Simple Art, is the last word on that most fundamental kitchen skill. And her “continuous kitchen” philosophy is smart and economical, especially if you’re on a budget. I’m always amazed by the number of meals I can eke out of one or two roast chickens.

Kafka’s premise, that fish, fowl, meat—even vegetables and some fruits—are best roasted at extremely high oven temperatures (500-degrees Fahrenheit), has proved infallible in my kitchen. I have roasted chicken, standing rib roast, turkey, asparagus, cherry tomatoes, leeks, and more using this principle. The results are always wonderful: the high-heat method seals in flavor, yielding a crispy, succulent exterior and an interior that is moist and delicious. You’ll never serve a dry turkey again.

Another Kafka principle to which I adhere is the “continuous kitchen.” Let’s use chicken as an example. I typically roast two at the same time. After we’ve dined on one, I reserve all of the bones and trim the carcass of all meat, which I reserve for leftovers (another roast chicken dinner, sandwiches, chicken salad, or a casserole). I do the same with the extra bird that has not been served. All of the bones, the wing tips (which I’ve removed before roasting), and the neck and giblets (saved before roasting) get tossed into my stockpot and filled with water. Do you see where I’m going with this? Homemade chicken stock—lots of it—to keep in your freezer. You’ll be able to read Kafka’s recipe for basic chicken stock in my next cooking post—or her book, if it’s not too late to add something to your holiday wish list.

Today I’ll be sharing her famous recipe for roasted chicken. My thanks to Barbara Kafka for giving me permission to do so.

A few words of warning, though: The only aspect of her method that could rightly be called Kafkaesque—having a touch of danger—is the method itself. Roasting at 500-degrees Fahrenheit is perfectly safe to do, provided you have taken a few advance precautions:

Make sure that your oven is clean, as in spotless. If you don’t have time to clean your oven before trying this, don’t do it. Self-cleaning ovens are best (so much easier on the back), but I’ve successfully used the high-heat method in an ordinary oven.

Make sure the rack is placed at the lowest section of your oven. I actually remove the top rack and rest my roasting pan on the bottom rack. Kafka might disagree with this; her instructions invariably say to place the rack in the center or bottom third of the oven. But when I’ve tried that I’ve found my food browned too quickly, so I’d lower the temperature slightly (or cover the top with foil) to avoid burning. (Every oven varies in temperature; mine have always seemed to be on the high end.) I’m also a worrier when it comes to high heat, and prefer the extra cushion of space at the top, especially if grease is popping energetically.

Don’t leave the kitchen unattended while you’re doing this. That shouldn’t be an imposition; it’s a quick method, and you’re sure to have other related tasks to perform. Just stay nearby.

Keep your oven fan on, and open a door or window if it gets too smoky. (Didn’t clean the oven first, did you?)

Take care when opening your oven door to remove or check on what you’re roasting. Avert your head (especially if you wear glasses…trust me) and wait a few seconds before proceeding.

Practice safe kitchen. Have a fire extinguisher nearby, and keep pets and children away from the oven area while you’re cooking.

Now, let’s begin.

Simplest Roast Chicken

Serves 2 to 4
Total roasting time: 50 to 60 minutes

5- to 6-pound chicken, wing tips removed (the chickens shown in the photograph were about 3 pounds each)

Place rack on second level from bottom of oven. (See my note above.) Heat oven to 500 o F.

Remove the fat from the tail and crop end of the chicken. Freeze the neck and giblets for Basic Chicken Stock. [Or refrigerate them in a sealed plastic bag if making stock the same day or the next.] Reserve chicken livers for another use.

Stuff the cavity of the chicken with the lemon, garlic, and butter, if using. Season the cavity and skin with salt and pepper. [I also added some sprigs of fresh rosemary.]

The stuffed chickens after 10 minutes of roasting

Place the chicken in a 12x8x1½-inch roasting pan [slightly larger if adding vegetables] breast side up. Put in the oven legs first and roast 50 to 60 minutes, or until the juices run clear. After the first 10 minutes, move the chicken with a wooden spatula to keep it from sticking.**

**At this stage, I incorporate elements from Kafka’s recipe for Roast Chicken with Crispy Potatoes:

2 pounds small red new potatoes, peeled or not and quartered (I did not quarter them when I made this, and rather wish I had done.)
1-2 medium onions, peeled, left whole, optional, or 6 cloves garlic, unpeeled, optional (I only used onions)My addition: a package of baby carrots

Sprinkle vegetables with salt and pepper and add to the roasting pan after the first 10 minutes of roasting. At 15-minute intervals, until the end of roasting time, stir the vegetables around with a wooden spoon so that they don’t stick to the pan.Back to the standard recipe:

Remove the chicken to a platter by placing a large wooden spoon into the tail end and balancing the chicken with a kitchen spoon pressed against the crop end. As you lift the chicken, tilt it over the roasting pan so that all the juices run out and into the pan.

Pour off or spoon out excess fat from the roasting pan and put the roasting pan on top of the stove. Add the stock or other liquid and bring the contents of the pan to a boil, while scraping the bottom vigorously with a wooden spoon. Let reduce by half. Serve the sauce over the chicken, or, for crisp skin, in a sauceboat.

If you’ve added potatoes, onion, carrots, etc., remove them to a serving platter as well. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and then deglaze the pan.

Next week, I’ll share Barbara Kafka’s method for making Basic Chicken Stock. And, for the holiday week, my food gift to you will be the Casserole Queens’ recipe for Chicken Pot Pie—just the thing to have on hand when company begins to fill your home!

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This past week I learned that Ree of ReeknittingwordswithGod chose The Midlife Second Wife as one of five blogs to receive the Liebster Award. The name derives from the German—Liebling means favorite, Liebe means love, Liebste means dearest—hence Liebster, because the award is given to blogs that the recipient loves. The circle of Liebster Blogs is ever-widening, and could very well exist in perpetuity as long as there’s an Internet and bloggers who blog. It’s important to note that bloggers give the award only to blogs with fewer than 200 followers. (It pleases me to report that also this week, the The Midlife Second Wife reached a circulation of 120 e-mail and WordPress subscribers.)

Because the Liebster Award is given by bloggers to bloggers, I consider it a singular honor—we write not only to gain perspective and understanding, but also so that others will read. The award, therefore, strikes me as a real validation of what we do. It’s also a wonderful way for the blogging community to connect, and to share blogs that they themselves love.

There are a few requirements that come with the Liebster Award. Here they are:

I. Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them. (Ree, thank you. I’m glad to count you among my readers, and am happy to send people your way.) You can find Ree’s reflections on spirituality and—yes!—knitting, at ReeknittingwordswithGod.

II. Reveal your top five selections for the award and let those bloggers know by leaving a comment on their blog (see below).

III. Post the award on your blog.

Here are my award winners—I hope you’ll enjoy discovering their work:

1. Linda Grashoff – The true name of Linda’s blog is Romancing Reality, and that’s precisely what this painterly photographer does. In the click of a shutter, she finds art in everyday places and captures extraordinary nature scenes that mesmerize.

2. A.B. Westrick – It almost goes without saying that bloggers are writers. But when you find a writer who is a blogger, well, that’s a bonus. If you care at all about the craft of writing, then you owe it to yourself to visit this blog. A.B.’s first book, for young adult readers, is forthcoming from Viking Children’s Books.

3. Radical Amazement – I discovered this blog when it was featured on WordPress’ “Freshly Pressed.” I was, well, impressed. I love the sensibilities here, this is a deeply spiritual blog—but it is the spirituality of a person who is not afraid to state: “I am agnostic with a great deal of faith.” A photographer and a writer, this is a talent I’m glad to have stumbled upon.

4. Author Meg Medina – Another great blog by a writer. Meg is a Latina author, as she says, “of libros for kids of all ages.” Not only will you find humor and insight here, you’ll snag some terrific recipes, too.

On Wednesday I posted an essay on the blog about the importance of having an annual mammogram—prompted by the fact that I had to go in for a screening mammogram that afternoon. Before another moment passes, I want to let you know that I’m fine. The results were the same as the screening mammogram I had to take last year at the Cleveland Clinic; in short, stable. Many of you sent me personal e-mails, some of you left comments here, a few of you phoned. Thank you from the bottom of my relieved heart for your concern and support.

It was a long, stressful afternoon, despite the soothing atmosphere of the imaging center to which my gynecologist referred me. The staff could not have been kinder, and they were especially helpful when a mix-up occurred with my Cleveland films. Still, as experiences go, I could have done without this one. I needed all of yesterday to recover my equipoise.

These screenings are sobering affairs; you know that for a few of the women sharing space with you in the waiting room, the news is not going to be good. Last year, at the Cleveland Clinic, a woman wept in the anteroom. There but for the grace of God …

The thing is, my wonky breasts are likely to lead me down this path again. And again and again. As I wrote earlier this week, I was diagnosed with fibrocystic disease when I was in my twenties. (The condition goes by other names: mammary dysplasia, benign breast disease, or this euphemism—new to me—which apparently was coined to diminish worry: “fibrocystic change.”) Last year was the first time my annual mammogram raised a red flag with the radiologist. In my case—and here I’m quoting last year’s test result—”there is a moderate amount of fibroglandular density noted within the right breast … Underlying fibroglandular pattern is stable.”

Stable is a good word. I’m all for stable. It means that for one more year, I don’t have to think about these wonky breasts anymore. (And you won’t have to read about them.)

Thanks again for your concern. But tell me: did you schedule your annual exam?